


1963

by fairyofshampoo



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Johnny - Freeform, Johnyong, nct - Freeform, taeyong - Freeform, yeah... shit gets deep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyofshampoo/pseuds/fairyofshampoo
Summary: It was July 1, 1963, Taeyong's seventeenth birthday, and there was no one in his living room but himself and his anxieties. That was until Johnny showed up, offering a tiny box wrapped in rocket-print blue paper, tied in a very delicate red bow.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1963

**Author's Note:**

> tw: heavy angst.
> 
> so, english isn't my first language. btw, i hope anyone enjoy and understand what i wrote alkdjlksdjf  
> this is like a "songfic" for New Order's song "1963". listen to it while you read, if you want.  
> i hope y'all like it.

It was july, nineteen-six-three.

July 1, 1963, more precisely my seventeenth birthday. Mom made me throw a party for my classmates, but who said I have classmates?

There were twenty cute invitations that she wrote, with pompous calligraphy and sayings. By the way, there wasn’t a soul present in my living room that stank of chocolate cake, cheap soda and mixed, colorful balloons. There, on the brown ceramic floor, the splinters of my heart were scattered. Mom felt guilty because she got me into this humiliating situation. I couldn’t blame her for anything.

She told me she was going out to buy soda, which was a lame excuse because there was a lot of soda on the table. Still, I offered my best square smile and nodded like the good boy I am; the boy so good, oh, so good, that the others simply want to corrupt with dirty words or kicks between the legs, among other daily humiliations.

The bell rang. I wiped away my tears and went to answer it. It’s Johnny, the guy who was always seen with a black leather jacket over his torso, of my class. Johnny greeted me with a blinding smile on his round, tanned face. I tried to do the same when I gave up space for him to enter.

I didn’t know much about Johnny Suh. Only that he looks like a punk rocker, had a garage band and skated, sometimes, around Dinner. I’ve never seen him mistreat anyone. Quite the opposite: Johnny was kind and friendly to everyone — teachers, elders, nerds, tough guys, ugly girls, pretty girls, anyway; maybe he was sorry for me and came to check if everything was okay.

Maybe.

I offered him some snacks from the “party”. He denied. He stopped in front of me, with a radiant expectation that spread over me, holding out a small box wrapped in a blue rock-print paper, tied in a very delicate red bow.

“Happy birthday, Taeyong!”, said Johnny, his voice excited, happy, his eyed fading in beauty. Something about that simple congratulation made something explode inside me; it was different from all the ‘happy birthday’s’ I received in life. It was as if I had been accepted, for the first time, by someone. I felt like someone. “Close your eyes, please!”

I did it, confident, anxious. I thought of the myriad of possibilities and surprises that were inside that little and cute box. I thought of books, games — that we could play together, maybe? —, magazines, pens. I thought of clips, eclipses, diaries, notepads, sneakers, socks. Whatever came, it would be well accepted by me. Nobody ever remembers my birthday besides my mom!

_Silly me. Silly, silly me._

Everything hovered in a sudden silence. I could only hear the record player playing softly some music about broken hearts and suicidal clubs. I was still smiling, somehow. A smile different from that square smile; it was a smile that I felt the corners of my mouth almost touching my temples.

And then, next, a sniff came. A terrible and copious sound of a weeping cry. Worried, I opened my eyes, finding a gun pointed at my face, held by hesitant hands and, at the same time, so determined. Johnny was murmuring something that I didn’t pay attention to, because, due to the fright, my nerves and sanity had run out. It was light years away from that reality.

 _“Johnny”_ , I wish I had the courage to scream, my absent look fixed on the trembling trigger, not on him. _“Why are you doing this to me?!”_ , I felt something hot wetting my face, my feed still stuck on the ordinary floor of my living room, body static, horrified. _“ **JOHNNY! WHY?! JOHNNY! PLEASE! DON’T DO THIS!** ”_, breathing became so difficult and that feeling of suffocation gradually dominated me. _“There are so many ways out! I beg you! For God’s sake, Johnny, can’t you hear me?!”._

I swallowed all my pleas. There was no chance of escape. The end tasted so, so bitter. Perhaps bitterness was my favorite flavor. Then, I thought of mom: what she would do or how she would react when discovering me — if she found me out. I thought about my classmates. “If we had gone to the party”, one would say, the same one who kicked me in the ass every fucking day, in tears, “we could’ve avoided all of this tragedy!”. “Poor thing!”, would mutter another, all tearful, “he was such a good boy!”. “A great companion!”. “We’ll miss you, Taeyong!”. I thought about what would happen to Johnny. I thought about what would happen to me.

“It’s going to be okay”, Johnny whispered, his voice trembling, inflamed, his eyes sharp. His face was streaked with quick tears. Something about those simple words made a thing within me; it was different from all the ‘everything’s going to be okay’ that I received in life. It was as if I had been free, for the first time, by someone. “Happy birthday, Taeyong.”

And so quickly my life was usurped when he pulled the trigger.


End file.
